


What's One More Dance?

by hollyand



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Champagne, Fluff, Formal Ceremony, M/M, Party, Romantic Fluff, canapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:44:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8600410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/pseuds/hollyand
Summary: With Garrett Hawke about to be inaugurated as the Champion of Kirkwall – and one of his ceremonial duties being that he leads the evening with a formal first dance in the Viscount’s Keep – Anders attempts to learn how to dance so he doesn’t completely embarrass his boyfriend. Written for the Glow Bang 2016, hosted by @teamblueandangry on Tumblr, to go with this amazing fanart by drawsshits.tumblr.com!





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was super-lucky that the amazing @drawsshits from Tumblr drew this beautiful, _beautiful_ artwork to go with my fic for the Glow Bang 2016! LOOK AT IT. LOOK AT IT. Amazing!

‘And one, two, three, and… oh, for Andraste’s sake. What was it the dancing master said again?’ Anders muttered under his breath, as he attempted to waltz around the ballroom, imaginary partner in tow. ‘I was supposed to take one step backwards while Hawke takes one step forward, and then…’ He stopped, lowered his arms and sighed. ‘I’ll never get this right.’

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been practising, despite what the stern dancing master had said; he just happened to have two left feet, probably covered in treacle too, and that was the reason he just couldn’t dance. He was going to fail Garrett Hawke at his own inauguration ceremony, no matter how much Hawke encouraged him; Hawke was going to be officially sworn in as the Champion of Kirkwall and open the dancing part of the ceremony by leading the dance, while Anders was going to fall over Hawke’s feet and make the Champion look like a fool, and make their dancing master furious.

The dancing master was a man Hawke had hired for both of them to practise for the occasion – he’d come with a very high recommendation from the noble families of Hightown, most of whom had fallen over themselves to help their Champion out in even the slightest of matters. Not that Hawke had even needed to hire someone to teach him how to dance: when the dancing master had tried to teach Hawke how to dance, Hawke’s moves had been so smooth that he practically floated on air; and the simpering mustachioed man had been enraptured by how well and how easily Hawke had taken to ballroom dancing, while he’d spent most of his time frowning in consternation at how terrible Anders was. Especially in comparison to Hawke.

Anders sighed and re-tied his blonde ponytail, before raising his arms again. He could almost see that mustachio twitching in exasperation at how Anders just didn’t seem to be _getting_ it. Mustachio-man insisted on Anders continuing his lessons long after Hawke no longer needed them, and now they didn’t have long to go before the inauguration dance and Anders still couldn’t do it.

Anders closed his eyes, and tried to hear the music in his head… _just feel the music in your body_ , the dancing master had said. Plastering a dreamy smile on his face, Anders raised his arms and tried stepping and swaying and spinning on the spot, attempting to feel and enjoy the imaginary music all the way…

‘You know,’ drawled the rich, deep voice of his boyfriend from the doorway, and Anders jumped, ‘it might be easier to practise if you practised dancing with an actual partner. Like _me_.’

Anders yelped, and turned round. ‘Hawke,’ he said, blushing furiously as he caught sight of his dark-haired, bearded lover in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded and a smirk on his face, ‘you weren’t supposed to be watching me. Don’t sneak up on me like that.’

‘Why not?’ Garrett Hawke threw Anders one of his charmingly easy grins, unfolded his arms and strode across the ballroom to where his lover stood. ‘You look very fetching dancing through my mansion in your under-skirt, I have to say. _And_ with one of my shirts on.’

‘I was just trying to get into my role,’ Anders pouted, still embarrassed that Hawke had caught him dancing by himself in a combination of his underwear and Hawke’s own finery. ‘You’re the partner who will be taking the lead, after all. At least, the dancing master you hired was very insistent that _you_ were the one doing the leading.’

‘Don’t tell me you’ll find dancing difficult to do if _I’m_ involved. We’ve done “the dance as old as time” together often enough.’

‘That’s not–’ Anders flushed even deeper, and Hawke laughed affectionately. ‘Hawke. Ballroom dancing isn’t the same as making love.’

‘You say that,’ Hawke said, still wearing that same easy grin that both infuriated and infatuated him, ‘but I can think of many similarities. You need a good sense of rhythm, you need to be able to read your partner, one or both of you take the lead…’

‘Please stop,’ Anders said with a frown; but his lover continued to smirk at him, and Anders sighed. _Time to tell Hawke the truth_ , Justice insisted, and Anders agreed the spirit might be right. He took a deep breath. ‘I’m worried, love. I’ve never done this before. In the Circle, mages weren’t taught to dance; there was no need for it. Not that there was much to dance about, but still…’

‘So you learn.’ Hawke took Anders’s hand in his, while his other hand rested on Anders’s waist. ‘Almost anything can be learned with enough practice.’

Anders allowed himself a small smile as he felt his lover’s fingers settle at his side; Hawke’s touch never failed to reassure him, never failed to calm him down. ‘I didn’t think you’d have time to practice with me, love,’ he admitted, as Hawke extended his other arm in front of them, Anders’s hand firmly enclosed in his. ‘And I didn’t want you to think I hadn’t been making progress. I just – didn’t want to let you down. In front of all of Kirkwall.’

‘You won’t let me down, Anders.’

‘But I might. The whole of Hightown will laugh at me.’

‘Then I’ll have them thrown out,’ Hawke declared, kissing the tip of Anders’s long nose. ‘It’s _my_ party. Champion’s orders.’

‘You’re a much better dancer than I am, Hawke.’

‘Only because Mother made us all practice when we were growing up. Well, Bethany and I, at any rate. Carver never had any interest in what he called “snooty nobles’ things”, and he stopped as soon as Mother let him. But, anyway – practice is all you need, Anders. You’ll get there. I promise.’

Anders sighed again. ‘Hawke. Are you _sure_ one of the noble ladies who’ve offered wouldn’t be a more suitable dancing partner for your first dance? I really won’t be offended. I know it’s protocol.’

‘Protocol insists that I have a partner to open the ceremony’s dancing with,’ Hawke answered. ‘And I _have_ a partner. You.’

‘Right,’ Anders said, somewhat sarcastically. ‘Because I would look so dashing in one of those fancy noblewoman’s dresses.’

‘You look dashing to me no matter what you’re wearing,’ Hawke said, squeezing his hand in his, and Anders snorted, although he couldn’t help feeling less nervous about the whole thing than when Hawke first walked in.

Hawke always knew how to calm him down, to stop him worrying. It was a talent among many the man had, and Anders never ceased to be amazed at how he could be so lucky that this wonderful man was his.

‘Now, then,’ Hawke continued, his hand still clasping Anders’s own. ‘Shall we take it from the start?’

– – –

Neither the Viscount’s Keep nor the Viscount’s Way showed any sign of the bloodbath and carnage it had undergone a mere seven months before. Fresh flowers decorated the Keep itself, stuffed into gilded, gracefully twisting stands, scenting the air with their delicate fragrance, while the fires burned bright and the furnishings were decked in sumptuous silks and satins. A new red carpet had been rolled out specially for Hawke as he entered – one of the first to attend his own party with an uncomfortable Anders on his arm – to a fanfare of trumpets. Hawke himself stood tall and dignified and walked proudly through the hall, showing no sign of the limp or the injuries the Arishok had given him during their duel which had had Anders frantic and worried sick for several weeks.

The music was as pleasantly sweet as the flowery aroma on the air, the dim hum of the gathered nobles made an (almost) soothing backdrop, and the dainty canapés were indeed the most mouth-watering Anders could have ever imagined tasting: fresh fish and cold salted meats and soft cheeses all garnished with the tiniest and greenest sprigs of herb or vegetable, and Anders almost felt guilty that he was being treated to such exquisite food while most of Kirkwall either starved or were left to make do with any half-rotten scraps they could find. The clink of glasses and the fizz of Orlesian champagne could be heard every so often, and with each note of pomp and celebration Anders could feel the familiar anger rising up and attempting to flood through his head.

 _Don’t_ , Anders told the spirit, as Justice raged around in his skull at the injustice of it all. _This is not the place. I know you don’t approve, and you’re right. But right now, we need to hold it together. For Hawke. He needs us_.

And yet, even worse was still to come for both of them: the Templar Order would be turning up soon. Knight Commander Meredith, as the _de facto_ head of Kirkwall now that the city had lost its viscount, would be the one anointing Hawke as the Champion in a lavish and elaborate ceremony, and it would need everything Anders had to keep Justice firmly and fully at bay, to keep him quiet in his mind.

‘How you doin’, Blondie?’ came a friendly drawl at his elbow, and Anders looked down into the self-satisfied face of Varric Tethras, clad in smart brown leather and red silk, who would never have missed such an event for all the pride he had in his friend Hawke. ‘You’re looking very smart – I see you’ve scrubbed up well. I take it the Champion has temporarily left your side to greet his adoring public?’

‘It would seem so,’ Anders answered, trying to force some cheer in his voice; Justice needed the distraction as much as he did, especially before the templars showed up. ‘Seen any of the others here, Varric?’

Varric sipped his flute of champagne before answering. ‘Maker’s breath, this is good. Better than the usual fizzy piss they serve at Hightown parties. Uh… Fenris is here with Aveline and Donnic – they’re over there,’ and he gestured to where Fenris was deep in conversation with both the Guard Captain and her husband, looking much more animated and cheerful than Anders was used to seeing, ‘–and obviously Isabela won’t be coming.’

‘No, I expect she won’t be,’ Anders murmured, noting the pain that briefly flashed acrossed the dwarf’s usually jovial face as he said her name – it was the exact same look he’d seen on Hawke’s face just after Isabela had left. Isabela had returned to Kirkwall, with a dramatic flourish, just as Hawke had been about to face off the Qunari; but then she had fled, after an argument with Hawke which had ended with her shouting ‘You’re reading too much into it’ before turning on her elegantly-booted heel and storming out.

Seven months later, those wounds had obviously still not healed.

‘Anyway,’ Varric said, changing the subject after taking a gulp of his champagne, ‘I brought Daisy with me so she wouldn’t get lost… she’s around somewhere…’

‘You brought _Merrill_ with you? Is it really wise to bring a – a _known apostate_ to a gathering with so many templars around such as this?’

‘You’re not really one to talk, Blondie. You’re here.’

‘Only at Hawke’s insistence. I did try to tell him he could have opened the dance with any one of the ladies from Hightown’s noble families, but he wouldn’t hear of it. I can’t even dance. Even with dancing lessons.’

Varric chuckled. ‘Hawke was really determined to have you here, huh?’

Anders grimaced. ‘Yes. For some reason.’

‘I dunno, Blondie. Hawke knows what he’s doing. Perhaps he needs you by his side more than you think.’

Anders sighed. ‘Then I’m going to need a glass of champagne to help me get through this.’

‘I thought you said… _you know who_ … didn’t let you get drunk anymore.’ Varric passed Anders a glass full of fizzy, pale yellow liquid after grabbing it off a passing servant carrying a tray of them; he glanced around furtively as if to make sure no one was listening, even though he hadn’t actually mentioned Justice by name.

‘He doesn’t,’ Anders agreed, taking the champagne flute Varric handed him. ‘But I feel like I’m going to need it anyway.’

– – –

They crowded into the throne room for the ceremony itself. It seemed strange, thought Anders, to be holding the Champion of Kirkwall’s official appointment in a room that everyone witnessed Viscount Dumar’s beheading in, but he supposed the templars were keen to show that Kirkwall was getting back to normal under their command – even though all you had to do was go outside, witness the unfinished reconstruction efforts and the newly homeless, and realise that normality was still so very far away.

At least the bloodstains had been cleaned off the walls and floors. The way the Keep was looking this evening, no one would ever guess that Hawke had fought a duel in this very room with the Arishok less than a year ago – and collapsed in Anders’s distraught arms just after defeating the Qunari leader and, effectively, driving the invaders out of Kirkwall. Anders had heard that some of the departing Qunari had died in the ensuing mêlée; that they had headed straight for the docks to return to Par Vollen, but of course, a ship was not forthcoming – just like it hadn’t been for three years.

Some of the Qunari had apparently been set upon in Kirkwall while they waited, some fled onto the Wounded Coast; and it was rumoured that some of them somehow made it back to Par Vollen, though how they got hold of a ship was anyone’s guess.

Silence descended on the hall, and Hawke, clad in ermine robes, approached the throne. Knight Commander Meredith stood in front of it, face stern as ever, holding the ceremonial sword Seneschal Bran handed to her – the sword was far too blunt to do any damage, but Anders still tensed all the same.

At least that was one good thing: no matter how much she would want the Templar Order to be seen to rule Kirkwall with an iron fist, the Knight Commander had to face the humiliation of bestowing the city’s highest honour on its most famous apostate. And do it all with a perfectly straight face in front of every single noble present.

Anders watched as his lover knelt before the Knight Commander, and she placed the flat of the sword carefully on each shoulder – first his left shoulder, then his right shoulder – before removing it.

‘Arise, Champion of Kirkwall,’ she announced to the room.

The cheer that greeted Hawke when he got to his feet could have shaken the dust from the rafters. Meredith scowled at all around her, while Knight Captain Cullen, standing to one side, watched his superior officer nervously. But Anders couldn’t help beaming with pride at his lover, couldn’t help the smile all over his face at every single person in the room who was cheering Hawke, couldn’t help the happiness that suffused his entire being at the sight of Hawke, flushed with embarrassed joy at the cheers and chants greeting his name, drinking in the goodwill of all around him.

Anders knew the happiness radiating through him wasn’t just his own. Justice was proud of Hawke, too.

– – –

More mingling, more canapés, more champagne followed. Everyone seemed keen to congratulate Hawke personally, and Anders wouldn’t have minded if Hawke hadn’t insisted on whirling Anders through the crowd of admirers with him.

‘Hawke,’ Anders hissed, ‘don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine talking to Merrill or Varric in the corner.’

‘The world needs to see you are my partner,’ Hawke explained, steering Anders through yet another throng of well-wishers. ‘Not just in my home, but in my life. There is no Champion of Kirkwall without his Anders.’

‘No need to show me off right away,’ Anders muttered, ignoring the curious stares of everyone around him. ‘They’ll realise who I am soon enough when I trip over your feet during the first dance.’

Hawke chuckled, and pressed a kiss against his temple, in his blond hair. ‘You won’t, Anders.’

‘I think you vastly underestimate my dancing skills, love.’

‘On the contrary. I thought you were amazing the other evening. You’ll be amazing now.’

‘Hawke. We’ve been through this before. Being “amazing” in the bedroom does not translate to being amazing on the dancefloor. I’m sure you’ll find our dancing master would agree with me.’

Hawke merely grinned at him. ‘You’re waltzing through this party with me just fine. Just relax, and focus on me. I’ll lead, you follow. It’ll be easy, I promise.’

‘You promise,’ snorted Anders. ‘Seriously, love? You actually _promise_ that I’ll dance that dance with you perfectly fine and that I won’t put a foot wrong?’

‘Of course,’ Hawke said, teeth white and gleaming, the picture of confidence and love, and despite how tense he was Anders softened when he looked at him.

‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ Anders teased him, fondly.

‘When have I ever?’ Hawke smirked, and Anders couldn’t help chuckling.

The trumpets started up again, as brassy and resplendent as ever, and Anders gulped when he realised the fanfare heralded the start of the dancing portion of the evening, and the opening of the ball by the Champion of Kirkwall and his partner.  

‘Come on,’ Hawke said, tugging on him. ‘Time to get this party started.’

‘I can’t do this,’ Anders murmured. ‘Help me, love, I can’t…’

‘Anders.’ Hawke stopped, and turned to face him, sliding both his arms around the other mage’s waist. ‘You _can_ do this. You’ll be fine. Forget about the crowd. Forget what they think. It’ll just be you and me, and the music. It’ll be no different than any other dance we’ve ever done with each other.’

Anders paused, and nodded, still unconvinced. Hawke chuckled again.

‘Anders, we danced around each other for three years, in front of all of Kirkwall, before we finally got together. What’s one more dance tonight, hmmm?’

Anders laughed; Hawke knew exactly what to say to cheer him up. Feeling somewhat heartened, Anders allowed Hawke to lead him out onto that dancefloor, ignoring the hush that fell across the hall, as the violins started to play and it was just he and Hawke, responding to each other as if no one else was in the room.

He didn’t put a foot wrong. Just like Hawke had promised.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello at [hollyand-writes.tumblr.com](http://hollyand-writes.tumblr.com)!


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